


Inhale Deep. Exhale Slow.

by johnwayne_coffeecup (JohnWayne_CoffeeCup)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dealing With Loss, Drug Use, M/M, hint of alcohol withdrawl, just sad, tags may not apply to each chapter but the entire story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-04-30 13:34:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5165714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnWayne_CoffeeCup/pseuds/johnwayne_coffeecup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris experiences an extremely stressful and depressing year.  Garret feels helpless as he watches Fenris fall apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm the narrator and this is just the prologue...

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not used to writing fiction, or anything creative really. But I decided to try. 
> 
> Very special thanks to my very sweet beta readers Sneaky Webs and halfslytherin! Thank you both so much!
> 
> I made a few edits since I posted. Nothing major. Just really minor things like word choice, etc. It didn't really change anything. I just wanted to be upfront. :)

“Anyone sitting here?”

_Ten other seats at the bar and they pick the one next to me. Figures._ “No. It’s open.”

“Can I buy you another round?”

The stranger looks at me with a goofy grin that catches me off guard.  He’s so _happy_. Maybe it’s the hour, or the copious amount of airport whiskey, but it has been a long time since I have seen a smile that genuine and I'm really enjoying his presence. He introduced himself, but I didn't catch his name. What I did notice was the well defined jaw, the deep color of his eyes, and his very attractive 5 O'clock shadow.

_Oh shit. He asked me a question._ “Me? What?”

"I didn't get your name. Can I buy you a drink?” He’s still smiling, mouth full of big pearly white teeth.

“Hawke. And thanks but, I’ll buy my own.”

He chuckles, “Hawke, huh? Yea, alright.”

We have the usual bar small talk. Where are you from, what do you do, all of that boring bullshit that I will never remember in the morning, anyway. At some point it becomes clear that I’m far more intoxicated than he is and for some reason, I’m finding it very embarrassing. But here, I’m not exhausted, or _angry_ , or afraid. I don’t have to be strong, or stable, or in control.  I can just be Hawke, and drunk, and that’s it. I’m watching the strangers mouth move, but I have no idea what he’s saying. My stomach turns as I realize, _I don’t want to leave._ Great. Guilt. Why not add that to the list?

“Come on, a guy like you, that fantastic beard and a name like _Hawke_ , you’ve got to have a lady at home waiting for you!”

“Ha! A guy, yea.”

“Sorry, did… did you say a guy?”

“Yea. I’ve a guy… at home. His name is Fenris.”

Somehow, that giant smile grows even bigger. He raises his eyebrows and licks his lips, and as he moves his chair closer he places his hand on my thigh. Red flags blew up in my head like fireworks, but I ignored them. 

“So, listen.  We were on the same plane. I saw you at the other airport slamming shots before we took off.  You’re a little… lost, aren’t you? Or maybe angry?   I mean, you’re in another airport bar sharing drinks with a stranger, and we were the last flight to arrive. What are you avoiding?”

“I’m not avoiding! Just… postponing… just postponing…. Fuck!” I throw my glass at the back of the bar and watch it shatter into a million pieces. The bartender glares at me and I try my best to look apologetic. “I’m… really fucking sorry.” And apparently this is clear to the bartender, very drunk.  He nods, but gives me the ‘look.’ The look that means ‘don’t fuck up again.’ I take out far more money than I need and leave it at the bar, apologizing profusely to the bartender again, and stand to leave. 

“So, angry it is.”

“Do you smoke?” I ask, cigarette already in my mouth as I fumble with my lighter. I spit the words at the stranger, rather than ask and walk out before he can even answer. Once we’re outside the stranger flashes that smile again and it feels like a punch in the gut. It draws part of me out. _Guilty_. I feel _fucking_ _guilty_ because I can't quit staring at his eyes, his smile.

I hold up the pack to him as I take a deep drag.  “No thanks. So, Fenris, huh?  That’s an ancient name, right? From one of those camps?”

I nod and exhale slowly, watching the smoke disappear into the air.  “Yea, it means Little Wolf… you know about the Ancient camps?”

His eyes light up like a kid given free candy. It’s not very often people are educated, even a little, about the camps anymore. “Yea! I uh… I read about them at university, not anything official.  Wait, is he an elf? Like, ears and all?”

I just stare at him blankly while I finish another long drag from my cigarette “…Yea. Ears and all.”

“Right. All the uh, all the Elves sort of got pushed out a few hundred years ago, right? Sort of this mash up of… leftover and forgotten cultures from before?  Kind of extreme, those people. Their own language, wild tattoos. They don’t usually leave their camps.”

“Yea.”  There’s a long pause, and quiet puffs of smoke. I _desperately_ want this conversation to continue, but I have no idea what to say. This guy, this complete stranger standing there full of excitement and life has created this bubble around me. A bubble where things are easy. I know, mostly, who I am, and how to act. It's not so damn hard.

“Tell me about him. Tell me about Fenris.” The stranger's eyes are filled with something else I haven't seen in a while: concern. For _me_.

_Thank The Maker._ “That’s … that’s not a short story.” _Good. Yeah. That keeps the conversation going. Dumbass._ But the stranger waits.

“He’s... he’s great. He doesn’t say a whole lot, you know. Never wastes a word. But when he does speak, you know he means it. He’s just a really great guy.” Apparently this is all my drunk brain can muster, but it’s enough for now.

“… then why are you still here?”  And just like that, it all poured out. A string of confession and frustrations drunkenly dumped on a stranger.


	2. And I'm staring down the barrel of a 45, swimming through the ashes of another life.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reading the prologue helps, but isn't needed.
> 
> Fenris experiences an extremely stressful and depressing year. Garret feels helpless as he watches Fenris fall apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (chapter titles were just songs currently playing on Pandora, cause I'm bad at that. )
> 
> Ok. The rest of the story would have been one mammoth chapter, so I split it into two. Really, there could be more but I could not decide where to split it. 
> 
> I'm not used to writing fiction, or anything creative really, but I decided to try. Very special thanks to my very sweet beta readers Sneaky Webs and halfslytherin! Thank you both so much!
> 
> I made a few edits since I posted. Nothing major. Just really minor things like word choice, etc. It didn't really change anything. I just wanted to be upfront. :)

It's September 23.

lt’s late. Well, early to be exact. 2:30 am. I’ve been waiting for this damned cab for half an hour.

“Damnit!” The cigarette I’d started burned itself out and dropped its ash on my leg. I search through my pockets for another. I hate these damn things, and I’m not completely sure when I picked them up again. Five years down the drain, I guess. It’s been a hell of year.

I inhale deeply, and watch the smoke disappear into the air as I exhale. _This fucking habit._

I didn’t mean to, but I’d stayed at the airport bar until last call. Until tonight, I didn’t even know airport bars had a last call. They do.

 _Finally_ , the cab arrives. I’m trying to will the cab to driver to proceed slowly, but I’m failing miserably. I suppose the rain is a little cliché, but it’s always raining here. The world outside of the cab has no idea what’s going on. That’s the thing, isn’t it? The world keeps spinning, without any care if you’ve caught up or not.

I feel like I’m in a movie. A lone car driving down the street, rain on the windshield, jazz on the radio. _’Am I in a noir movie and just don’t know it?_ ’

But it doesn't feel like a movie. It feels real.

Between the loss, the fights, and the anger…. I’m not sure what’s waiting in the house. If I stay outside, if I can make the cab _stop_ , it feels like a pause button we so desperately need. A dark and rainy, smoke and boozy pause button. But I can’t, can I? No, I have to move. I have to face it.

I'm _scared_ of what comes next. It's irrational, I know. But, honestly, can you blame me?

Inhale deep. Exhale slow. I head inside. Fenris is waiting. Maybe he's still up?

_February 1st_

_It was getting late. Work had been going well, and we were at a bar celebrating my success on a big project. When he got the call from his mother, laughing and chatting turned to icy and silent very fast._

_“Ok. Thank you for calling me. No, I can’t make it home. I love you, too.”_

_I’d only ever heard him say ‘I love you’ to his mother. Other than to me, anyway. He just got up and walked out. Cold and calculated. Carefully composed. That deep voice that had just laughed at some stupid joke I'd made about breadcrumbs and melts my heart and makes my knees weak, was...sad._

_He held it together for a little while. Green eyes focused far away. I paid as quickly as I could and stepped outside. It was fucking freezing._

_Fenris was sitting on a bench outside with his elbows on his knees and his head held tightly between his wrists. He had his hoodie pulled high on his head and tight around his waist, like he was hiding. And he was smoking. He always kept cigarettes with him, but only smokes when he’s sad. I always hated that. I hated smoking._

_Inhale deep. Exhale slow._

_Fenris took several long, sad drags before he spoke. His words were slow, like he was learning how to speak as he said them._

_“My sister hanged herself. Two days ago. (Inhale deep. Exhale slow.) The funeral is tomorrow. The whole family is going. Except me.”_

_“You’re not going?”_

_“Gar- .”_

_“I know. You’re right. ….I’m sorry, Fenris.”_

_Inhale deep. Exhale slow._

_"….Me, too."_

_He had little contact with his family. Small numbers and years of abuse didn’t leave much to contact, anyway. I moved to crouch in front of that bench, in front of him. He didn’t have to look up, but he needed to know I was there._

_“Fenris… Are you alright?”_

_Inhale deep. Exhale slow._

_His voice is tight, desperate to stay composed. “I am fine. …I will be fine.”_

_I sit next to him and pull him close. I want to say something... anything. But I just can’t find the appropriate words. Fenris takes out his iPod and finds a song. He closes his eyes and lays his head on my chest. It’s not speaking, but body language will have to be enough for now._

_I hold him tight, because he needs to know._

_He’s not alone._

_+++_

_And so it went._

_For the entire month, I could see it. He was confused, quiet. Hurt. He spent long nights telling me stories about the two of them. Sometimes he would laugh, and those moments were my favorite. Just watching his face light up at a truly happy memory from when he was young is a very special thing. He has such a limited amount, and it’s so great to hear him laugh._

_But they were not all funny, or happy. His stories grew dark quickly, like they always did, and I’d ask if he’s alright._

_“I am fine.” He’d tell me._

_He could only lie, pretend, for so long. One night after we left a bar, he opened up. Well, he rambled, actually, which was unlike him. “Why’d she do it, Garrett? Why didn’t she just move away? Come find me?…. I got out. Why didn’t she? Why didn’t I… take her or…”_

_Fenris struggled to speak as he stumbled over his words. If it was from the alcohol or the emotion, was unclear. But the tears in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. The guilt was too much. He thought it was his fault._

_Fenris lit a cigarette. They’re back. For now. While he’s sad._

_Inhale deep. Exhale slow._

_“I should have gone to get her. I could have saved her.”_

_Fenris had run away, and took nothing with him. In the middle of the night, 15 years ago, he ran and left everything and everyone behind. For 15 years, but especially now, Fenris blamed himself for everything that happened to his sister while she stayed at the camp._

_Tonight he leaned heavily into me, mind full of whiskey and lungs full of smoke: “It’s my fault, Garrett.” He was laughing as he spoke. That sad, bitter, spiteful laugh you use when your shitfaced drunk and you just don’t know what else to do._

_“It’s not your fault, Fen.”_

_Inhale deep. Exhale slow._

_“I left her there.” He’s speaks through tightly clenched teeth, inches from my face. I struggle to recall a time when I’ve ever seen him this angry. His eyes are clear, and full of pent up rage. “I should have made her come with me, or sent money or- I don’t know. She was a fucking kid and I left her there and now she’s-“_

_I pull him close kiss him. It’s hard and desperate and sad and fast. I don’t know what else to do. It feels strange and wrong... right...to kiss him now, at this particular time, but I love him._

_And he needs to know._

_It’s not his fault._

_His hands curl around the back of my head, into my hair. He holds me there, face to face and eyes closed. Just for a minute. It’s February 20th before Fenris cries. And it’s just a little. And it’s just because he’s drunk. And it’s just because a million other excuses he can think up._

_And I love him._

_And he needs to know._

September 23

I take the key out of the door and look around the entry. I’m overwhelmed by the smell of cigarettes and whiskey and pot. And I just know.

**“When the sins of my father weigh down deep in my soul, and the pain of my mother will not let me go…”**

My heart sinks into my gut and my brain races, trying to pick up any light, or sound, or anything to wash the fear away. It just doesn’t seem right to turn the lights on.

This is wrong. This music. This playlist. “Shit.”

**“Well I know there can come fire from the sky, to refine the purest of kings…”**

It took me several years to really learn it, but if you want to know what Fenris is feeling, you have to hear what he’s hearing. Tonight, it’s Blues. And that’s bad. That’s very bad.

I’ve heard this before. Once.

Once, when I found him as an angry teenager trying to find people like him, but fighting us away at every turn.

Once, as a young man who grew up far too fast with too much false guilt and too much real adult anger.

Once, when he felt he was completely alone.

Once, when he decided we were better off without him.

**“And even though I know this fire brings me pain, even so, and just the same…”**

_“Fuck.”_

The porch light shines through the window and I see a picture. Fenris doesn’t have many pictures of his childhood, but he’s with his sister in this one.

They’re young. Grammar school age, and Fenris is clearly older. They look to be playing outside, neither of them knew the picture was taken. Fenris’ ribs are wrapped. His right eye is dark and bruised, and the right side of his upper lip has been split open. I can only see the side of his sister’s face, but her lip seems to be split open as well. Her left arm is in a makeshift splint, and the back of her dress is torn.

My stomach churns and I struggle to keep the alcohol down.

It looks like whip marks. Dark, red stripes across her back. I close my eyes to fight the tears. I knew. I knew what happened to him, to them, but I’d never seen it. “ _They’re fucking children! ... They didn’t have a chance…”_ My arms shake and my muscles grow tight, I slam my fists the wall behind me. Some cross of a grunt and a shout come out of my mouth, and I only realize it was me after I hear it.

**“Make it rain, make it rain down Lord, make it rain, oh, make it rain…”**

_MARCH 13_

_I got the call right as I walked into a client’s office._

_“Six weeks?! She.. what?” My lungs betray me as I try to breathe. I’m even sure if I told Anders goodbye. I think I just hung up._

_“Isabela…” I say her name softly. Like it would help, like I could call her here, make her better._

_Cancer. Sudden, painful, and hopeless: cancer spread too far and caught too late. Isabela was the first person Fenris met when he’d arrived in Kirkwall. He was exhausted, and had nothing to his name. Isabela took him in. She was kind to him. She fed, clothed, and educated him. She even learned a little of his language in the process. Fenris always enjoyed teasing her when her pronunciation was off. He was just 14 old._

_He survived. Not on the run, but in a real, and happy life, because of her. I have him to love, because of her. Now, she’s just 35. And she’s going to die._

_I cry. I weep, actually, hardly able to say the words. If it’s from the news or knowing Fenris is alone and far away I’m not sure. But it’s weeping nonetheless._

_This scares Fenris right from the start. I compose myself enough to get the words out: “Fenris, love, it is worse than we thought. They say she has six weeks, maybe.”_

_He’s silent, but I hear his breath catch._

_“I’ll be on the first flight out tonight. I’ll be home at 6:00 tomorrow morning.”_

_I wait a few minutes, hearing nothing but his breath on the other end. I try to say goodbye, and I barely hear him, “wait…” He doesn’t want me to hang up, but he can’t make himself talk. That’s okay._

_Eventually I hear his lighter and it feels like a small punch in the chest. “I love you, Fenris.”_

_Because he needs to know._

_Inhale deep. Exhale slow._

_“Are you ok?”_

_“I’m fine.” That voice. Deep in his chest, like it's come from someone much bigger. Long minutes pass again, just silent, sitting. Just being, as best we can, while apart._

_Inhale deep. Exhale slow._

_“I love you, Garrett.” His voice was quiet, but he said it just for me._

_Because I needed to know._

_+++_

_Isabela didn’t make it six weeks. She made three, and they were far from pretty. I felt helpless as we all offered shallow words of comfort to each other and our friends._

_There was no time to make sense of anything, no time to say goodbye. We were stuck there for a while. Caught in a time warp of hurt and shock that takes weeks to shake off. Most of us do, eventually._

_Fenris struggles. There wasn’t enough time between February and March and now he’s here, lost and heartbroken again. He begins to frequent the liquor store on his way home._

_+++_

_Inhale deep. Exhale slow._

_I make Fen come with me to a park. We just sit, but he has to leave the house. He brought whiskey and glasses. He’s buying more lately, I notice. But I drink it too, maybe it’s not actually more?_

_Fenris won’t cry, but he’s cracking. He keep his headphones and iPod by his side constantly these days. He shares them with me sometimes and I’m so thankful. Because it’s easier than talking._

_And I don’t know what to say._

_+++_

_Isabela got Fenris a job as a bouncer as soon as he was old enough. He was strong, for someone so small. Mostly, though, he didn’t have anywhere to direct his anger. She saw that, and it helped._

_Fenris loved his job. He excelled quickly and found purpose when he needed it. He struggled adapting to life outside of the camps, even years later. The general population isn’t kind to elves, anymore. But here, it didn’t matter. At his job he was respected, he had friends, and he was happy._

_On March 29th Fenris loses his job._

_He shows up late too often, usually hung over. He was starting fights just to throw people out. His boss understood, for a while. But the fights he can’t forgive, and he couldn’t have a bouncer with black eyes and bruises from causing his own fights, which are too easy to find when you’re a bouncer._

_Fenris came home with a bottle of whiskey and a bag of pot. He stared at the floor when he told me he’d lost his job. I tried to be supportive, but he shrugged me off. He lit a cigarette and walked outside._

_Inhale deep. Exhale slow._

_I pour two glasses of whiskey, grab the pot, and meet him on the balcony. We don’t speak. He folds himself into my arms, I rest my head on his, and that’s it. Sometime after the bottle was empty and we were sufficiently high, we found the bed._

_I tried to help._

_Inhale deep. Exhale slow._

_Maker help me, I tried._

September 23

“Fen?” I’m trying to shout, but my voice sounds so small.

In a movie this would be a cliché, trite, a… not a joke, but a well-played out plot.

**“Make it rain, make it rain down Lord. Make it rain, make it rain…”**

This house feels miles long. There’s just enough light so the house is filled with silhouettes instead of furniture. Shadows of a happy life that exist only when the lights are on.

This is real. It’s really happening. “Have I really lost him?” Deep breath. In. Out. I step on the paper before I see it, crumpled up into a ball. It’s a letter from Isabela:

 

> Fen! Congratulations, you got the job! I knew you’d get it, little wolf. You’ve become an exceptional young man. Now, let’s find you a young man just as exceptional! I enclosed all of the hiring paperwork. Fill it out and bring it by, you start tomorrow!

**“And the seed needs the water before it grows out of the ground. But it just keeps on getting hotter, and the hunger more profound…”**

I call for him but doesn’t answer. I can’t breathe. My lungs forget how to work and my vision blurs and my brain panics. Just keep walking. I check the guest room. Empty. “Fen!”

Walk. Left, right, breathe, repeat. This isn’t anything like a movie.

_MAY 2nd_

_Fenris receives a letter from his father on May 2. Well, it wasn’t directly from his father, as Fenris went to great lengths to make sure his father never found him. Though it was from a third party, he recognized the handwriting quickly. He almost threw it out without giving it a second thought, but something compelled him to open it._

_“No” I hear him whisper. The glass he’d been holding shatters on the floor._

_He turns white, like paper, and his knees buckle beneath him. I run around the counter to catch him. It’s awkward, but I make it. Barely. He hands me the letter and I feel him shaking against me. He can’t read it out loud, but he wants to tell me._

_Fen’s mother, the last person in his family that loved him, that spoke to him, had died. His father said they’d already had the funeral. ‘Nobody wanted you there anyway’ he wrote.'_

_She would have wanted me there’. He whispers. I can hear the rage building, but he’ll keep it all in. He always does. He fumbles for his cigarettes but leaves them for his bag of pot and the bottle of whiskey and disappears into our room._

_+++_

_Fenris told me about his family, about the camps, but I always felt there was so much I didn’t know. His father was a drunk and beat his family. It’s not an uncommon story for the Ancient camps, but it doesn’t make it any easier to hear. They’re completely self-sustained, and pushed out to the far reaches of the major areas. They have their own laws, and receive almost no education. Typically, just being elves with tattoos is enough to force segregation, but the violence at Fenris’ camp kept a tight grip on him, even after he got away._

_Fenris tried to grow up fast, to be strong. When Fenris was 14 his mother made him make her a promise. ‘Tonight, you run. I’m going to distract your father. You run and you don’t stop.”_

_He cried. Begged her and his sister to come with him. Pleaded with them. But he knew she was right. His sister was too young father had a long reach in the nearby city. If they both left, they would not make it very far. “_

_Your sister will stay at your aunt’s from now on. Please, Little Wolfe, please go.”_

_“I will come back for both of you.” She smiled and gave him some money she had collected. When his father came home Fenris ran as fast and as far as he could, and he didn’t stop. His mother distracted Father._

_He tried very hard to not think about what that meant._

_Fenris never made it back to the camp. Through many phone calls and letters, his mother convinced him she was fine, and she’d sent his sister away. She was annoyed, unhappy, but unharmed and physically fine. He just needed to stay as far away as he could. He didn’t know his sister was in a house not unlike his growing up. He never let the guilt go._

_+++_

_He was supposed to be visiting her when he got the letter, but declined so he could spend the weekend with me before I left for two weeks. “I will see you in a week, mother. I love you, too.”_

_That was the last conversation they’d have._

_“I should have been there”… he repeated that for weeks. It was the only thing he said. He was a ghost. A shell. Once bright green eyes now were dull, hidden in dark circles and pale skin._

_I took time off work and I saw it. The decline. More alcohol, even more pot. Gradually. He was subtle like that. Always was. ‘Excuses.’ I tell myself. ‘You see it. Try harder.’ I tried. Maker, I’m trying. I was losing him. Breaking. He’s falling apart and I’m losing him. I should have seen it then._

_Then one night, he adds my name in front of the only sentence he can seem to remember how to say, and it catches me off guard. “_

_Garrett, ….I should have been there.” His usually deep, powerful voice that radiates to fill a room sounds so small. Withering. Like a ghost. “She was my mother Garret, I should have protected her.”_

_He’s reaching out, trying. He walked into the kitchen with a bottle of wine while I was making dinner. His bloodshot eyes meet mine and it breaks my heart. I’m trying to console him, or provide some comfort but I just stand there like a blank faced fool. Try as I might, I can’t seem to get my brain to put words in my mouth to fucking help him, but I just stand there. Helpless._

_His vacant stare turns to the floor and he just sits. He takes out a cigarette, already high, and I join him. I had given the habit up years ago, but this… this year. This death… It was all too much._

_Inhale deep. Exhale slow._

_I try to help. Please let me help! I point him to a song. Sometimes a song is just what you need, no matter the artist._

**“You have suffered enough, and warred with yourself, It's time that you won. Take this sinking boat and point it home. We've still got time. Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice. You'll make it now.”**

_I want to tell him I can’t lose him. That I love him. That I need him. He curled up in my arms, and I hold him as tight as I can. Because he needs to know._

_“_ _It’s not your fault” I whisper. “I love you.” Because he needs to know._

_He’s angry. Breaking._

_I_ _n_ _hale deep. Exhale slow. Maybe we’ll try again tomorrow._


	3. And please just save me if you can, from my blasphemy in my wasteland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reading the prologue helps, but isn't needed. 
> 
> Fenris experiences an extremely stressful and depressing year. Garret feels helpless as he watches Fenris fall apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not used to writing fiction, or anything creative really, but I decided to try. Very special thanks to my very sweet beta readers Sneaky Webs and halfslytherin! Thank you both so much!
> 
> I made a few edits since I posted. Nothing major. Just really minor things like word choice, etc. It didn't really change anything. I just wanted to be upfront. :)

September 23

“Even though I know these tears come with pain. Even so, and just the same, make it rain.”

This can’t be real. Why did I leave?

The security light comes through the blinds, bathing the room in a faint yellow light. It makes the shadows creep through the house, completely unaware of the lives that go on when the lights are on.

“Fenris!” I see several empty liquor bottles and a bottle of my pain pills in the den. He’d managed to get them from the pharmacist, though I’m not sure how. He must have called them in on my behalf… Fuck.

“Make it rain, make it rain down Lord. Make it rain, oh make it rain…”

My heart sinks. “Fenris! I’m home. Where are you?!” He won’t answer and I’m fucking terrified.

All I can think about is the broken kid I found years ago, this same fucking song playing in the background. I’ve almost lost him once.

“Fenris ANSWER me!” It can’t end this way. There’s broken bottles and pills and the house smells like whiskey and pot.

Panic. Full blown, heart racing, palm sweating panic. My head spins, or maybe I’m actually spinning, Acid and alcohol crawl their way up from my stomach and I violently lose what few contents it held.

“Fenris!” I more grunt his name, than call it. But I need to find him. The world moves in slow motion, like I’m not really here, watching myself from the outside.

“Make it rain, make it rain down Lord. Make it rain make it rain…”

Left, right, breathe, repeat.

Left, right, breathe, repeat.

I noticed a shattered picture frame near the chair in the corner, clearly thrown that direction. It was a sketch of his mother. Fenris used to draw. He’d never admit it, but he spoke to the picture when he thought nobody was around. Even before he lost her, Fenris knew his relationship with his mother could never be the same. This was his way of keeping her close. He loved her deeply.

The sketch itself was mostly unharmed. I found a clean spot on the table and moved it out of the way. He’ll want that later. I search each room through the house, only to be met with ghosts. Ghosts that come out when the lights are off and wait for you to feel weak.

He’d wrecked it all. The whole house. A destruction map of pills and booze and pot. Emotions finally breaking free, without me here to help him. To hold him. To hear him.

“Make it rain, make it rain, make it rain, make it rain…”

I call for him again and it burns my throat. “Please, answer me!” Tears in my voice, now. I’m pleading. I want to run through the house but time moves so fucking slow I just can’t go fast enough.

The kitchen. The fucking kitchen.

Steals my air and makes me remember, makes me cold. A ghost.

Memories. Of a fight. Of the fight. The kitchen stops me in my tracks.

_July 3_

_This one wasn’t about anger. This one was about fear. It was about me._

_I was in a car accident at the start of July. Fen asked me to come home early, “I’ve got a surprise for you” he’d said. The car was driving 65 mph, and I never saw it. I’d broken my pelvis in half, and a large piece of my skull had shattered. He blamed himself. Again. Like any of this year was his fault._

_Fenris didn’t find out until I was out of the initial surgery, and in an ICU recovery room._

_9 hours of calling my cell and leaving messages. 9 hours of repeatedly asking our friends if they’d heard form me. An entire fucking day of waiting and panic… only to have the local sheriff show up and offer him a ride to the hospital. The waiting and worry nearly destroyed Fenris._

_When he arrived to my room, I was in a coma. For one long, seemingly unending week, Fenris wondered if I’d live. He told me there were 3 blood transfusions, a lung reinflated twice, and a 6 hour surgery to stop bleeding in my brain during that week._

_A fter one week, I woke up. Memories were lost, and many bones were broken. I was bruised, stitched, and mostly whole, but I woke up. Confused, but awake, and he never left my side. Not once._

_+++_

_The nurse in my room took notice of Fenris right away. He was sweating, mumbling nonsense to himself as he paced around the room, and trying desperately to hide his shaking hands. Not to mention the frequent trips to the wash room where she head him throwing up._

_When she asked him about the spot he’d chewed on his lip, he snapped at her and told her to let it be. She noticed when the shakes got worse, he chewed on his lip. The nurse asked if he’d like something for it, but he declined. He would never admit this to her, but he wanted the spot, there on his lip. It hurt, but the pain brought his mind somewhere else, somewhere familiar when everything else fell apart, even if it was temporary._

_Fenris told me he woke up one morning with a small cup of pills and a note from the nurse. “Take these. They’ll help the shakes and anxiety. Please, find help later.” The arrived every night when he slept, with the same note. An unspoken way of reaching out. Fenris was thankful this interaction required no further speaking._

_+++_

_Fenris would likely never admit it, but he cried. Just little. And just because he was tired, and just because whatever excuse he found himself smiling through this time._

_A smile._

_It was fleeting, but it was there. I’ve missed that smile this year. He starts to tell me what happened, but he can’t make it without apologizing. I ask him to stop. “It’s not your fault, love.” He looks down at me with sad eyes. I can see it. He’s no good with words, but he’s trying. “Do… do you want to hear what I’m feeling?”_

_“Yes. More than anything.”_

_He hands me his headphones and searches for the song. He smiles weakly, as it doesn’t sound like anything I’d expect from him. It’s pretty… and then she sings. “I have died every day, waiting for you. Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years. I'll love you for a thousand more.”_

_I can’t make myself listen to the rest. I try to pull him down into a kiss. His shaking hands meet my face and he laughs and cries and takes a ragged, breath. We’re here, and we’re alive._

_And we’re smiling._

_+++ I_

_had to relearn how to walk. Fenris hides it well, but he’s riddled with guilt. Eventually, after 8 long weeks, we go home. The moment he gets outside he finds a bench and sits. “I haven’t smoked since you’ve been in there… can we… can we sit for a while?” I’m reminded of that day in February. He has his hoodie high over his head, and pulled tight around his waist._

_I want to tell him no, because I hate that he’s smoking, that we’re smoking, but I’m just so fucking happy to be alive with him I don’t care. And, I want one. I want three. Or ten. Fuck._

_Inhale deep. Exhale slow._

_He smiles and we laugh. Deep, from the belly, honest laughing. I’ve missed his smile._

_It’s slow going at home. Physical Therapy every day isn’t easy. I don’t have to go to work for two more weeks. 10 weeks off, and 10 weeks with him. Even if 8 of those were in the hospital. Not great circumstances by any stretch, but he’s here._

_And he smiles, sometimes._

_+++_

_August 28_

_He’s afraid and angry, and that makes him mad at me._

_He never let it go. His sister, Isabella, his mother, losing his job… almost losing me… he can’t process it all. It’s too much too fast and now that I’m home and things are “stable” it’s coming to the surface. I_

_t’s been 208 days since the terrible began. For 208 days he’s carried guilt and I can’t get him to shake it._

_“It’s not your fault, love.” My words push through him like a vapor. I’m not sure he hears me anymore. He drinks and smokes and steals my pain pills. I beg him to stop, but I can’t seem to get through._

_I never get mad. I know he doesn’t mean it. I find myself escaping to out balcony often these days. A bottle of wine, as I’ve little need for glasses anymore, and cigarettes in hand. Defeated. I feel completely fucking defeated._

_He needs me. He needs me and I’m going to lose him and I don’t know what to do. I’m totally helpless, but Maker help me, I’m trying._

_Inhale deep. Exhale slow. 'This fucking habit.'_

_I still haven’t learned how to help, and he still hasn’t learned how to ask._

_Physical Therapy, lunch, home. Every day._

_Dinner, fight, worry, sleep. Every night._

_Some routine we’ve found, love._

September 23

Fuck, Fenris. I’m so sorry.

“And the seas are full of water that stops by the shore. Just like the riches of grandeur that never reach the poor…”

Why did I leave? Two weeks. He wasn’t ready.

Rage floods me, and I put a hole in the wall. Three, actually. “I fucking left him here. Damnit Garret!”

Tears. So many tears I can’t hide anymore. A year of pushing it down, away. He’s taking it so much harder, I need to be here for him. And I fucking left.

“And let the clouds fill with thunderous applause, and let lightning be the veins with all that they can drop. When it’s time to make a change..."

“Fenris! Love, please….” I plead. Hysterical. “Please, answer me.”

September 8

Tears. Big fat tears falling down his face. I’d never seen him cry before, not like this. Though he’d had reason.

He begged me to stay.

“You can hardly walk, how will you go to work? Please, please don’t go. What if something happens to you? Please…” his voice cracked. My love, the one who spoke so few words and never wasted a one. The even, collected man I fell in love with was absolutely hysterical in front of me.

“Please stay….” His voice had dropped to a whisper but my stupid fucking brain didn’t catch it.

“We need money, Fenris! We’re drowning in hospital bills!” I shouted. At the top of my lungs. Why the fuck did I yell at him?

“ I’m sorry.” His voice was so small, and flat. The ghost is back.

“Fenris…” I reach for him, but he shoves me away.

“No. Go to work. I’ll be here if you come home.”

“If? Fenris, I’m coming home!”

“We shall see.” He left for the balcony, whiskey in hand and a cloud of smoke.

Inhale deep. Exhale slow.

S o that was it. It wasn’t about work. It was about him. He was scared. The ghosts come out when the lights are off, and he’d have to fight them alone. He knew he couldn’t, and I fucking left him. This fucking year, it may just kill us yet.

I knew it was coming. It had to be.

September 23

Did he leave? Shit. My heart hurts.

“Make it rain, make it rain down Lord. Make it rain, oh make it rain…”

If he left… what if I can’t find him? What if… no. Maker, does this house ever end?

Left, right, breathe.

Finally. Fucking finally. I make it to our bedroom. The room smells like pot and whiskey and unwashed body.

He’s in the oversized chair by our bed, buried in the huge, black, fuzzy blanket I insisted we buy on a whim one day. He'd always said he hated it.

His eyes closed and I can’t tell if he’s breathing. If he’s alive. My feet are glued to the floor.

I glance at the whiskey bottle in the bed, my pill bottle on the nightstand…shit.

“Make it rain. Make it rain down low. Make it rain. Oh make it rain….”

“Ferris...” It’s barley a whisper. Maybe even just a thought. Move, body! Fucking move. Left, right, breathe.

“Fenris!” Before I know it, I’m there. His eyes open, oh so, so slowly and I cry.

Shaking hands reach up to touch his face. Fenris’ face. My Fenris’ face.

“Make it rain… make it rain.”

“….You came back.”

“Yeah, I did. I’m here. I’m alive.” That’s what it was about, after all. He was scared I’d die. An irrational fear, I’d usually assume, but after this year, anything seemed possible. I laugh and cry and gasp for breath I didn’t know I was missing. I can’t let go of his face. I just have to see him. See him. Fenris is smiling.

“Fen… I thought… well it doesn’t matter.”

He closes his eyes again, but I make him talk. At least for a minute. I need to hear him, his whiskey and pot and pill filled voice, as much as he needs to hear me.

I need to know he’s going to be ok. “Fen, can you get up?”

“Gar, I don’t…oh fuck” Fenris empties the contents of his stomach there on the bedroom floor, and on my shoes. I don’t care. He’s here, and we’re alive.

“My sister, my mother… you…. ‘s my fault…“ His words are slow and flat, like he’s pulling them from somewhere far away. But they’re honest. Slurred, but honest. They’re more honest that he’d been all year.

“Stop, Fenris. Please.”

“NO! No… let me say it.” I wait. He’s trying. “I could have stopped it. Saved them. And Izzy… we didn’t get to say goodbye. I have you….because of her….” I try to help him up but he’s mostly dead weight, just falling into my arms.

“I have…… so few people, Garrett. I can- ….I can’t lose them all.” He’s asleep again, in the bed, before I can answer him. But I do anyway. “I’m here, Fenris. I’m not leaving again.”

Inhale deep. Exhale slow.

Tomorrow is a new day.

Tomorrow, I find a new job.

Maybe tomorrow we can get this shit together.


End file.
